


A Chemical Defect

by 221b_hound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Heartbeats, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft confronts Sherlock about nearly losing his life simply because of a temporary aberation. A chemical defect he has developed for his flatmate.  Sherlock embraces the accusation. And thereafter, heart monitors go a bit nuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chemical Defect

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling low yesterday, so I wrote a silly bit of fluffy fic to cheer myself up. I wrote it directly into the text box on [my Tumblr](http://221b-hound.tumblr.com/post/105847525580/xmas-ficlet-a-chemical-defect), without planning, so this is what happened. Fluff. Just plotless, silly fluff.
> 
> It did cheer me up, though. I might do it again today, if I get a second.

Mycroft stood by the hospital bed of room 23, hands folded over the curve of his umbrella handle, glaring at Sherlock. “This nonsense must now cease,” he said, tone dry and brittle.

Sherlock, bandaged and bruised but whole, conscious and technically on the mend, glared back. “When I want your opinion, brother mine, I’ll… oh that’s right. I don’t. Ever. So you can piss off.”

Mycroft’s mouth tightened slightly. “This… delusion you have, that you… harbour _feelings_ for Doctor Watson will get you killed. You failed to act rationally today and for what? An _illusion_. A passing hormonal phase. A _chemical defect_. One day you will gamble with your life for no better reason than that your _sentiment_ overruled your intellect, and your death will serve no purpose.”

"The expression you are failing so utterly to articulate," replied Sherlock with a sneer, "Is love. It’s not, as it turns out, a shameful word, or a shameful _thing_. I _love_ John Watson. Today I have been forced to admit it, and I find that it is _ludicrous_ to have been ashamed of the fact.”

"You never were the bright one of the family. Dr Watson is…"

"Hello," said John Watson, recuperating in the bed beside Sherlock’s, "Right here, you twat. I AM RIGHT HERE."

Mycroft didn’t even deign to arch an eyebrow at him. He just continued to glare at Sherlock. Who raised an eyebrow and said defiantly. “I love him. I love John Watson. So fuck off.”

"The declaration would be a bit more romantic, you pillock." said John, "If you said it to _me_.”

Sherlock turned his head on the pillow to glare at John, but one look at his doctor’s bruised face and the bandages over John’s upper arm, and the steadily beeping machine that underlined how lucky they had been this time, and his expression softened.

"Ignore my arse of a brother," said Sherlock, his tone a blend of irritation-gruff and desperately fond, "I love you. There’s an end to it."

And John’s face, lined with exhaustion and pain, softened into a grin full of delight, relief and long-suffering affection of his own. “And I’ve got a huge chemical defect for you. I’ve had it for years and if there’s a cure, which in my medical opinion there is not, but if there was, I wouldn’t want it anyway. I intend to remain chemically defective about you for the rest of my life.”

And then they just smiled at each other, soft-eyed and perfectly content, until Mycroft snorted his disgust and left them.

*

A short while later, at the nurses’ station, the staff watched the monitors in room 23 do the little dance they’d done on a semi regular basis all day, since their two patients had woken up.

"There it goes," said Nurse Owala as one monitor ceased to function, "He’s unhooked himself again.. oh no, wait, it’s the other one this time!"

"Is he going to…? oh yes, here we go…" said Nurse Macready, "Three, two, one…"

Four times of five it had been the tall, dark one’s heart monitor to go silent as he removed himself from his bed and crossed the short distance to the other bed, to kiss the short, blond one and make his heart race. But this time, the fifth, it was the blond fellow, the doctor, who had made the move, and it was the one with the curls whose heart was racing as they kissed.

Nurse Macready looked at her watch. “We really should go hook him back up,” she said.

"Oh, just another ten seconds," said Nurse Owala, who was a sentimentalist at heart, "Give them a little longer. Their hearts are so happy when they kiss."

So Nurses Macready and Owala gave them another twenty seconds of happily thundering hearts, before going to room 23 and pretending to have no idea why these darned heart monitors kept coming adrift from their snug-in-bed and innocent as a lamb patients.


End file.
